Suspended
by Phy Phy Is Me
Summary: It was déjà vu all over again. There I was stuck in a small, confined area with Derek; it was like the anniversary that I realized he truly couldn't be trusted. Only this time things felt different. This time I don't think I would regret it. Dasey.


Title: Suspended

Rating: T—just to be safe

Genre: Romance

Pairing: Derek/Casey

Summary: It was déjà vu all over again. There I was stuck in a small, confined area with Derek; it was like the anniversary that I realized he truly couldn't be trusted. Only this time things felt different. This time I don't think I would regret it.

_**Disclaimer:**_** I don't own this show.**

**Author's Note: Not much to say right now. Except to read, enjoy (or not in most cases, I guess), and please review. Thank you.**

**

* * *

**

**ONE**

The day started off normally. At least it _felt _normal. I didn't get a gut-wrenching feeling that it was going to be any different; that anything bad might happen. I didn't continue to look over my shoulder, except at lunch when Derek likes to bother me; maybe try to steal my lunch, or even my lunch money. Still over the years, his natural instincts to bully me hadn't succumbed.

It felt like a normal day when I, and nine other interns (including Derek), sat at a long table in an airy office facing our boss, Mr. Paul (not as great as my high school counselor) Hansen, who was a short dark-haired man who dressed so well it made us all look like Thrift Store Babies. He was intimidating, but funny, and I hated him. I couldn't help it. He was a jackass that made my skin crawl, but I needed this job—badly.

"Okay, Interns, your day is over," he said as he glanced at the clock. "Remember, three days until the dinner." Yeah, that dinner—at his home with his wife and kids where five interns will be publicly humiliated when they are told _You're fired!_ This was the gut-feeling I had that day—I was going to be told I didn't make it. Only more ammo for Derek.

Paul Hansen looked around the room and checked each one of us out and then said, "The first one to tell me the day and time will have a guaranteed spot."

"Saturday; 6:00 PM-sharp!" the rest of the interns said (including an obviously desperate Derek), several of them actually rising out of their chairs in excitement. I sat still and rigid in my chair.

Mr. Hansen smirked and then looked at me with those cold eyes that could turn anyone to stone—good thing his black hair wasn't made of serpents, huh? "Ms. MacDonald," he started, "you chose to stay quiet."

I looked around, very aware of the nine others. "Yes, sir," I said, doing all I could to keep my voice steady. He really made me uncomfortable.

He only cocked his head to one side in question. No words necessary.

I stammered for a minute, then said, "I didn't feel like you were being serious."

Paul Hansen looked around at the others. "And this is why someone like Casey is almost guaranteed to stay." I frowned, mimicking several others who didn't seem to agree with his statement. That was the last statement I wanted to hear.

Part of me wanted to ask: why? I didn't show the tell-tale signs of desperation? I caught on to an obvious bluff? I learned how to be like Lady Gaga and _not _let him read my po-po-poker face?

"All right, kids," he said as he turned his back to the room, "get out of here." He turned back at the door and said, "On time tomorrow—we have a lot to do in the morning; the best need to stay the best. 7:00 AM—_sharp_." Then he was gone without so much as a good bye.

Several of the interns glared at me as I pushed back my chair; we all talked, shared feelings about working here, and it made sense why they might be a little peeved with me. I didn't know the boss liked me, though. He normally said my ideas wouldn't relate to the general public—I was too feminine; and we advertised for _everyone_—every type of person.

As I sat there and watched the intern shuffle out, the same thought that always crossed my mind when I was leaving for home slipped through my lips: "This is not was I thought I'd do with my degree." I was glad that no one was there to respond to it.

I grabbed my purse and my bottle of water out of my locker where Janine was waiting. She was my new Emily (not that Emily could have been replaced) since Em was still in Toronto living an awesome life; and I was here stuck with Derek—which seemed to be the story of my life since our families joined.

Janine smiled at me as leaned against her own locker. "So, the boss seems to have taken a liking to you," she said. Right, she had a lot of room to speak. Mr. Hansen was her uncle.

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the door of the little room. "No," I said, not looking back, "he only said that he liked someone like me working here." Even that didn't sound right to me; but he also said that I _might_ have a chance of staying. I wondered if that would make up for anything.

"But you don't like working here," she said, suddenly at my side. What—was she going to inform on me? _Casey doesn't like working here!_ she'd scream, jumping up and down trying with all her might to get me to lose my spot here. Yes, I could actually see that. After all, it was because of her why I even got a spot here in the first place. It was also because of her why Derek had a spot. No, nothing ever did work out for me did it?

"Ironic, huh?" I said and stood in front of the elevator.

Janine looked down the hall and I was sure that Paul Hansen was standing right there, but when I looked back I only saw that she was looking at the stairs. "Well, congrats," she said with a very weak half-smile.

"For what? I got nothing, except a very mild compliment," I reminded her as I crossed my arms over my chest.

Janine dismissed the comment with a half shrug and said: "Well, I'll text you in the morning. Carpool?"

I nodded. She didn't drive and if we carpooled I bought the coffee. It usually meant she was low on cash. "Cool, see you tomorrow," she said with a wave and was headed toward the stairs. As she always said: _I gotta keep in shape_. She was an exercise freak. I was too, but I followed my gut which told me to take the elevator today for some reason.

I hit the down button and waited patiently for the doors to open. All I wanted to do was sign out, go home, change and meet my dad for dinner. A benefit of living in New York, I guess. I got to see my father _a lot_ more, it was nice. That doesn't mean I don't ache for home though. I sighed and glanced at the doors, but as they opened I caught the reflection of someone behind me. The halls were particularly quiet today for some reason, and in a building like this someone was always roaming the hallways. Well, kind of like now, but when I turned around to see who was standing there I nearly screamed at the sight of Derek who was standing so close that I could feel his breath on me. He only smiled at my reaction. The sheer please of one who's too easily amused.

"Jumpy?" he asked.

"What are you still doing here?" I asked as I backpedaled on to the cart; my breath was a little thin and my heart was still trying to ease itself. Maybe Derek should become a spy. I'll bring that up some time. He can move to Russia or Japan and gain a secret life and I would be without him for a while—or even forever. I liked that idea.

"I had to take a piss," he said as he stepped onto the cart with me. Why did he find it necessary to crowd me? He pushed my hand away from the control panel and hit L before the tip of my finger could even make contact.

I rolled my eyes and took a step back. "Do you always find it necessary to be a jerk to me?"

The doors closed and he just looked forward—or maybe he glanced up at the number panel above the door—and said, "Only when I know I'll get a sense of extreme pleasure out of it."

"So, yes?" I asked and crossed my arms.

Derek didn't say anything, I might have been able to bet money he had just chuckled. It was like him. I watched the numbers light up, listening to the dull _bing, bing, bing _as the floors passed without a stop. "So, Paul seems to have a big fat crush on you," he said between _bings_.

No, he couldn't just pass up the comment could he? He just couldn't help fishing. It was his hobby. However, over the years I've learned to (sometimes literally) bite my tongue and refuse giving into his taunting; today I would pass up that bait.

"Or maybe you just like him," he said; if his words floated into the air, I would be able to read the suggestion in them. Every time he spoke, he never turned around to say it to me; always directed it to the doors. I knew it was because when they opened he could just step off the cart and get away from any fight that he might have started.

I looked into the reflection of the door and saw through the distorted metal door that little smirk that I could hear in his words. I was almost a quarter of a century old and I had to learn how to pass these verbal battles up, even if I did get extreme pleasure out of calling Derek names I once was never brave enough to say before.

"But you don't even like working here, which is even odder, then, right?" he kept going after few moments of silence and a few more rings of floors passing us by. This time I did literally bite the edges of my tongue to keep it still. I really didn't have to explain myself to him—Mm-mm, no I didn't.

What came after I took in my deep breath and bit a little too hard, almost made me pierce my own tongue. The cart jerked abruptly, and I instinctively placed myself in the corner and grabbed the rails, while Derek wobbled to one side. I'll be honest; I was hoping he'd fall. My hopes were wiped away when he caught himself. I would have laughed, too, in the midst of rocking elevator, forgetting my surroundings and just letting loose. Nothing ever seemed to work out my way though.

Then everything was still; there was nothing, no more wobbling, no creaking, no _binging_. It was completely still and silent aside from my pumping heart that echoed into my rushing ears.

"What just happened?" I asked after a long second of silence, and looking up at the blank display panel. The light that told the floors was out. This wasn't good.

I watched as Derek hit the L button again and again. "Shit," he said calmly. "I think the elevator's broken." It was eerie how level-headed he was about all of this. Not a shred of fear or angst was in his voice; but then again, all I could think of was that I was stuck in this cart with Derek Venturi until we got out.

I let out a hard breath. "What do we do?" I asked, nothing moving from my corner. I wasn't afraid, per se, but I was nervous. What was going to happen to me in this stupid elevator—what if I died here, with Derek? No, that couldn't happen to me.

For the first time he looked back at me and said like I might be impaired, "We'll call for help." He pointed to the emergency call button and poked at it. "Hello? The elevator is stuck," he said after he squatted toward the small speaker. Yeah, I noticed he didn't inform them that there were _two_ people in the broken elevator.

There was only silence in return. Oh, crap. We were in an emergency situation—the entire building was being held hostage or something. We were going to rot away in this small box—my worst fear was happening. I was going to die with Derek. I think it's plausible to say, that freaking out would be the next step here.

"Hello?" he said again to the speaker, poking the intercom button in and out like it might fix the problem. But again no one answered. Not even the sound of static air came to us. Unfortunately, it looked like what came along with a broken down elevator, came with a broken down emergency phone. I actually stood there and shook my head in disbelief. Good thing they had security cameras. I could only pray that security would see us soon and help us.

I took a step forward, arms still crossed over my chest. "What now, genius?" I asked, each word come out a little more bitter than the last.

* * *

**Author's Note: Got right to the heart today for some reason. I'm hankerin' for some Dasey; we'll see where it goes. I'm not sure right now. I can't believe I used a Lady Gaga reference. Shocked myself. I've only heard that song in bits and pieces; and I don't really like her. Hmm. Weird.**

**Also, take note that they are older, living in a different environment, and their personalities might be altered just a bit. I'm the type of writer who lets the characters evolve so they aren't exactly the same as they were when they were fifteen. Cute as buttons, but it wouldn't be right for two twenty-somethings in this case.**

**Anyway, reviews will determine if I'll post another chapter.**

**Thank you guys.**


End file.
